


Father's Love

by Juliska



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Icecrown Citadel, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-19 01:34:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9411548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Juliska/pseuds/Juliska
Summary: Lieutenant Mikal Blackwater reflects on one of the most tragic moments in the assault on Icecrown Citadel. Even the mightiest warriors grieve. One shot.





	

_**Author’s Note:  Mikal Blackwater is my creation, but pretty much every other character (Varian, Muradin, Dranosh Saurfang, Varok Saurfang, and Jaina) are all copyright Blizzard Entertainment, as well as most of the dialogue.  Used without permission or profit.  It comes from the Alliance version of Icecrown Citadel if you wish to play through it.**_  
  
 _ **I hope you all enjoy, since I had to listen to quite possibly the saddest raid dialogue in the history of World of Warcraft in order to get the wording correct.  Read and review please.**_  
  
#  
  
Mikal Blackwater looked down at the corpse of the orc death knight in front of him. Poor guy - one of the death knights that had been unable to break from the Lich King’s control. He looked quite young as well, and was obviously much more powerful than the more typical ones. It had taken the entirety of the Alliance strike force to take him down - or at least the ones that had survived to get to this point in their assault on Icecrown Citadel. He stepped back and wiped the ichor off of his sword, shaking his head.  
  
I am released.  
  
That’s what the death knight had said. Mikal had spoken to relatively few members of the Knights of the Ebon Blade - truth be told, he did not really trust them - but the few he had met had told him. They had told him about not being in control, about being bound to the will of the Lich King, but being aware of what they were doing. They knew of the atrocities they committed, and it haunted them.   This one evidently retained at least a small part of his former personality, although it had doubtlessly been twisted.  He did, after all, call them “Alliance dogs” - likely an insult he had used in life as well.  
  
Muradin Bronzebeard was stumbling over to their fallen enemy. The dwarf was still trying to catch his breath after almost being asphyxiated by the death knight, but when he bent down over the body he had enough air to gasp. “That’s Saurfang’s boy - the Horde leader at the Wrathgate,” he said quietly, then shook his head sadly. “Such a tragic end.”  
  
Saurfang - now that was a name that Mikal knew well. He was the High Overlord of the Kor’kron Guard and one of the most dangerous soldiers the Horde had to offer. He was also beloved and respected by his men - both in the Kor’kron and the common Horde soldiers that wandered around Dalaran. Mikal had only faced him once - and it had only been minutes prior to the battle with his son.  
  
The Horde zeppelin had attacked their airship as they tried to ascend to the upper spires of the citadel. Mikal thought they had been insane - did they not _want_ the Lich King dead?  The Horde had suffered as much as the Alliance had under the Scourge’s tyranny and brutality, and perhaps sometimes more.  Then why did they attack them and try to ruin the best chances of success?  It was so pointless.  
  
A thought slowly occurred to the Lieutenant and he closed his eyes for a moment.  He suddenly felt quite cold, and it was not simply from the icy wind that buffeted Northrend.  Mikal glanced up as he heard the unmistakable sound of an approaching zeppelin.  It was limping along - they had blasted it pretty well, after all - but it was slowly approaching their position. He heard Muradin give the order to stand ready for another battle, but he slowly lowered his own blade (although he kept it in hand).    
  
The zeppelin slowly pulled up to the side of platform and sat there.  The Alliance soldiers could easily see the grim faced Horde soldiers watching them from the deck of the zeppelin, but none of them left the ship or raised their own weapons.  They simply stared tiredly at their counterparts.  Slowly, an old orc wearing the fine plate armor of the Kor’kron Guard stepped off and slowly approached.   
  
Mikal recognized him - it as indeed Saurfang, but the fearsome commander that had been described to him looked exhausted and drained.  There was a strange look in the warrior’s eyes and Mikal could feel his heart go cold as he realized what it was.  The orc pulled the axe off of his back and stood there in a battle stance, staring at the gathered Alliance around him.    
  
Even at that, the Horde soldiers on the zeppelin did not disembark their ship, did not even reach for their own weapons.  They had either been ordered to stay onboard or…  
  
Or they knew this was something they should let the commander do on his own.  
  
The orc said nothing until Muradin spoke up.  There was a hint of regret in the dwarf’s voice at what he said.  
  
“Don’t force me hand, orc.  I can’t let ye pass.”  
  
When Saurfang spoke, it was not the commanding tenor Mikal had heard being shouted during the battle.  There was still anger in it, yes, but there was also an impossibly deep sorrow.  
  
“Behind you lies the body of my only son.  Nothing will keep me from him.”  
  
Mikal sighed and closed his eyes for a moment, remembering.  
  
#  
  
 _It was a beautiful day in Stormwind Park on one of the few times he had been granted leave from the Northrend Offensive.  It was that perfect time, just before summer when the springtime was no longer chilly in the mornings and evenings.  As was usual for him when he had no work to do, he was lost in a book.  His back was leaned up against a tree and he kept his daughter, a beautiful girl of four named Lily, in his sights out of the corner of his eye._  
  
 _“Papa!  Papa look!” she yelled at him, and he glanced up to see her dangling from a low hanging tree branch about ten yards away._  
  
 _He smiled at her.  “Don’t climb too high, sweetie,” he said, glancing back down at his book.  He turned the page and listened to her laughter.  He had to return to the front the next day, so he wanted to take her to the park before he left.  His poor wife had to take care of the girl by herself while he was gone and she needed some relaxation.  Besides, it was a lovely day, and Lily loved the park.  As long as he could hear her, she could not be far off, he knew.  She was a good girl who knew not to run off, even in the relatively peaceful city of Stormwind._  
  
 _He knew in the back of his mind that he should be watching her more closely, but it was a very good book and he was just getting to the best part.  He did not look up until he heard her yell, “Papa, look!  I’m a gryphon!”_  
  
 _Mikal glanced up and saw her a full ten feet in the air.  “Lily!” he yelled, dropping his book.  “Get down from there!”_  
  
 _He realized too late that he had startled the child.  She quickly tried to grab for a lower branch to obey, but it was not one that could support her weight.  She fell to the ground with a scream._  
  
 _He was there within seconds, holding her.  “Lily!  Are you okay?” he asked frantically.  He got a wail in response, but at least she was awake.  “Lily, I’m so sorry, baby,” he said.  “Where are you hurt?”_  
  
 _“Arm,” she sobbed._  
  
 _He looked down at her right arm - it was undoubtedly broken.  He tried to calm down, finding it remarkably difficult to do so.  It was so odd.  He had seen soldiers die in battle of gruesome wounds, had even tried to comfort some of them, but he had never felt panic like he did now over a broken arm on a little girl.  He hugged her and looked around, trying to find a healer.  Luckily, a priest from the Cathedral was walking by._  
  
 _“Sir!  Sir, can you help me?” he begged, trying to sound calm._  
  
 _The priest turned and looked at them, but then walked over quickly.  He knelt down next to the bawling girl and her panicked father and smiled gently.  “Climb too high, little one?” he asked, holding a hand over her and using the Light to mend the fracture.  When she finally calmed down and buried her face in Mikal’s shirt, the priest looked up at him.  He patted the younger man on the shoulder and smiled gently.  “You look worse than she does.”_  
  
#  
  
Saurfang the Elder looked terrible, but only in his eyes.  The orc was obviously careful to keep the pain out of his facial features, but his eyes betrayed him.  
  
Mikal listened as Muradin spoke again.  “I . . . I can’t do it.  Get back on yer ship and we’ll spare ya life.”  
  
Even as the dwarf spoke, Mikal knew that Saurfang would never do that.  In fact, his expression hardened and he started to step forward.    
  
Mikal looked over his shoulder at the younger orc’s body.  He would have broken his own arm if it had taken away Lily’s pain only a second sooner.  What had the old warrior thought as their zeppelin circled around and the Alliance had given his son a final death?  Had he hoped that perhaps he could have saved him?  Did he believe that somehow he could have freed him from the Lich King’s control?  
  
No.  The commander was too smart to think such a thing, even in the midst of grief.  Had the Alliance been the one to falter and the Horde had been the one to fight the young orc? It could have been that the old warrior only hoped to give his son one last act of merciful love - to end his suffering and send him to the Light or ancestors or wherever orcs believed they went when they died.  
  
The Horde had fought so hard in the gunship battle.  Now he knew why.  
  
Mikal gripped his sword tighter as a battle between the lone orc and the Alliance forces seemed inevitable.  This was not something he wanted to do, not at all.  He neither wanted to kill or be killed by a grieving father whose only desire was to bury his son.  He prayed there was some way to stop this.  
  
The Light must have heard his prayers, because just before any fighting could start, a portal opened a dozen yards away.  The Alliance soldiers stared at it, although Saurfang did not even turn his head.  Through it appeared Lady Jaina Proudmoore and the High King himself, King Varian Wrynn.  The latter blinked from the cold for a moment and surveyed the scene, then bowed his head slightly.  
  
“Stand down, Muradin,” the king said in a strict tone.  “Let a grieving father pass.”  
  
Muradin seemed to relax at the order, letting out a breath slowly, but he and the others quickly stepped out of the way. Mikal followed suit and bowed his head slightly as the orc walked past, stone-faced, and knelt next to the corpse of his son.  He said something Mikal could not understand (he had never bothered to learn Orcish), but he imagined it was some sort of prayer, perhaps, or an apology?  Saurfang took his son into his arms and stood up.    
  
The death knight must have been terribly heavy, but he carried him as gingerly as if he were an infant.   
  
To Mikal’s surprise, Saurfang did not simply walk back to his ship.  Instead, he stopped in front of the High King.  He stood there a moment, and Mikal imagined he was probably trying to find the right words in Common (although he obviously spoke it fluently).  
  
“I will not forget this . . .” Saurfang started, pausing for a moment, “kindness.  I thank you, Highness.”  
  
Varian took a breath in through his nose, letting it out in a cloud of icy fog.  “I . . . I was not at the Wrathgate, but the soldiers who survived told me much of what happened.  Your son fought with honor,” he said quietly to the orc, glancing down at the corpse he carried so gently.  “He died a hero’s death.  He deserves a hero’s burial.”  
  
Saurfang simply nodded.  He had his back turned to the rest of the Alliance forces, so only Varian and Jaina could see his face.  Mikal suspected that he may not have trusted his voice, although it was an utterly bizarre thought still that the fierce leader of the Kor’kron would not trust his voice.  If Varian had seen any emotion from his usual enemy, he did not acknowledge it.  Instead, he watched in solemn silence as Saurfang walked slowly back to the zeppelin.    
  
The Horde zeppelin departed without another sound from any of the soldiers onboard.   
  
Jaina was crying quietly.  She and Varian had a quiet conversation until the High King turned to them and ordered loudly, “Muradin, secure the deck and prepare our soldiers for an assault from the upper citadel.  I’ll send out another regiment from Stormwind.”  
  
“Let’s move out then!” Muradin ordered to the rest of them.  
  
Mikal stood there for a moment after the order was given until he was compelled to move.  He watched as the zeppelin limped out of sight, then started walking back to their own airship to get some supplies.  Still, the scene stayed in his mind, as it would for years to come.  
  
Perhaps . . . perhaps the Horde was not exactly as he had thought after all.


End file.
